The Games We Play
by Kyla Baines
Summary: Isabela is accustomed to feeling irresistible, but a certain elf seems to be immune to her charms. Determined to get a reaction - any reaction - out of him, she may end up pushing him to his breaking point. A one-shot gift fic for the lovely Artwo.D2!


Isabela was _not_ happy.

Never had she met a man so irritating, self-righteous, and so _damned_ irresistible as the one sitting across the table from her. Mossy eyes were fixed on the tankard that was clutched in gauntleted hands, and a shock of startlingly white hair hung over his brow. He had that snarky half-grin on his face from something Hawke had said. Isabela was growing tired of this little game. She allowed a ghost of a smile to flit across her face.

_Although, truth be told, I'm probably the only one in on the game. That needs to change._

Surging to her feet, Isabela decided to take action.

"Bela, where are you off to?" Garrett Hawke's tone was suspicious.

With a quick glance to make sure her target was also paying attention, she jutted one hip to the side, placing her hand on top of it and giving what was certainly a winning smile. "Just thought I'd get us another round."

Without waiting for their reaction, she turned lazily and sauntered toward the bar, putting an extra sway into her hips, causing her short tunic to ride even higher on her taut, bronzed legs. This simple action, honed to perfection from years of practice, elicited several catcalls from some of the other patrons. Isabela winked at one or two of them as she passed.

_Never hurts to have a backup plan._

She gathered the tankards of the watered-down piss that passed for ale in Lowtown and turned to head back to the table. She stopped dead in her tracks, and arranged her face back into its usual expression of carefree indifference. That bastard hadn't been paying any attention whatsoever! His head was turned away, wisps of hair shining from the lamplight and swinging softly as he spoke to Varric. Maker – even _Hawke_ seemed to be ignoring her! Walking back, she checked surreptitiously to ensure that her bodice was laced tightly enough to show off her most prominent assets.

As she reached the table, she stood directly across from where Fenris sat. Passing the fresh drinks around, she leaned over far more than was necessary, all but pushing her ample bosom right into the elf's face. She cracked a joke, laughing heartily as she did so; surely this overt movement right in front of him would elicit some sort of reaction!

Nothing. Fenris wasn't moving a muscle, and his gaze was fixed at a point somewhere beyond Varric's head.

_Damn him!_

What was it going to take to get a reaction – _any_ reaction – out of him?

Isabela downed her drink rapidly, and relieved Merrill of her untouched mug. As her thoughts grew fuzzy and time droned on, her companions drifted away to their respective homes. Finally, she was the last one sitting at their table, and Isabela drained the last of the whiskey that she had switched to when the ale hadn't taken effect quickly enough. She stood with a wobble and, giggling, sauntered to one of the men she had winked at earlier.

"You know, darling, I used to be a captain. How would you like to meet me… below decks tonight?" Her speech was slurred, but the man thankfully appeared oblivious to everything but her exposed skin.

He wasn't the one she wanted, but he'd do for the night.

* * *

The next day the group headed out to the Wounded Coast; Isabela relished the tang of briny sea-air in her nostrils.

"So, Rivaini, how was that latest conquest of yours?" Varric's voice was mocking.

Sparing a glance at Fenris who, typically, was striding purposefully at the head of the group alongside Hawke, Isabela replied loudly. "Well, _I_ wanted to play a game we sailors used to call 'The Crow's Love-Nest,' but he didn't seem up for it."

Hawke and Varric snorted, before the leader called behind him. "And _what_, pray-tell, is that game, Isabela?"

"Oh, nothing _too_ creative. It just involves some netting, a solid _mast_, and a few yards of good, strong rope…" Her voice trailed off as Fenris leaned over to mutter something to Hawke, who began laughing heartily. "What's so funny up there, boys?"

"Er, Fenris is just wondering if you could keep your lascivious thoughts to yourself," Hawke replied, his voice ringing with mirth.

"Oh, my poor, delicate elf! You haven't even begun to hear what naughty things I get up to."

Fenris grunted, and those tantalizing markings of his began to glow. "If you cannot control that whorish tongue of yours, one day you may find yourself relieved of it."

So mesmerized was she by the whorls of light and deep timbre of his voice, Isabela barely registered the hostile words. She rolled her eyes and idly wondered if the markings traced his entire body.

_So, he thinks I'm a whore, does he? Fair enough. But what if I change targets…_

Isabela jogged to walk abreast of Hawke. "You want to know something about sex, sweetheart?"

Garrett rolled his eyes – he had been around Isabela for a long time, now, and knew the way she operated. She'd bedded him once, but that had been months before Fenris had join the group, and Isabela had viewed him as just another conquest before moving on to the next man in line. She might make an exception, though, if it meant getting a rise out of Fenris.

She raised her eyebrows, still waiting for Hawke's answer.

"'Bela, you're going to tell me regardless of whether I want to know or not, so just have out with it," he conceded in a long-suffering tone.

Isabela bounced ahead on the balls of her feet, turning around to jog backwards as she continued. "Sex, sweet thing, is a lot like sailing – it makes you sick if you do it wrong, but if done _right_, there's nothing in the world like it." She threw her head back, raised her arms, and rolled her hips to emphasize her point.

Her chocolate eyes flitted to Fenris as Hawke groaned by way of a reply. His lips were twisted down in a snarl, and his hands were clenched tightly in fists.

_Good. At least he's finally noticing something._

Dinner that night was an interesting affair. Isabela sat unreasonably close to Hawke, who seemed resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to be able to pry her off of him. She made suggestive comments on the flavor, quality, and firmness of the stew's meat, drank excessively, and frightened Merrill off when she scooted over and kissed the unsuspecting girl full on the mouth.

Fenris' mood appeared to darken as the hour grew later, and he seemed to hit a breaking point when Isabela began tugging at Hawke's arm to head to her quarters. He stood while muttering unintelligibly, knocking his chair to the ground with a clatter as he stormed off, slamming the front door so hard that the tankards on most of the tables rattled. His furious eyes had been the darkest Isabela had ever seen, and his mouth was fixed in a disapproving frown.

Inwardly smiling with satisfaction, Isabela rose unsteadily, pulling Hawke with her.

_Even if I can't bed him, it's nearly as much fun to piss him off!_

* * *

Sunlight spilled through the open window, and Isabela cursed at its offensive rays. Judging by the pounding of her head, she must have drunk far more than she'd thought the night before. Rolling over, she saw that she was alone, which was unsurprising – Hawke was one of those thoroughly irritating people who, for some unfathomable reason, loved the morning.

Groaning, Isabela reached for her pitcher of water to rinse her face and mouth. Feeling only slightly more refreshed, she pulled on her clothes, cursing the creaks of protest her leather boots gave as she laced them tightly up.

She quickly concealed a dagger in the holster inside her right boot, and walked out into the streets of Lowtown. Thinking to visit Merrill and apologize (if insincerely) for her actions the previous night, Isabela walked towards the Alienage. She turned her gaze to the sea that was just visible from this part of town, and ached to be back where she belonged, aboard a sturdy vessel and riding the shimmering waves to find her fortune along with a crew of hardy, willing men.

After knocking on the small hovel's door several times, Isabela realized Merrill was gone. Kicking at the small pebbles on the ground in frustration, she wondered what to do with herself.

A wicked smile stole onto her face, and she turned on her heel and walked briskly out of the slums. Of course! What better way to spend the day than spying on how dear Fenris spends his time off, all alone in that big house of his?

She reached Hightown quickly, and took to the many shadows afforded by the massive pillars that were outside nearly every building and estate.

_This district is far too pretentious for its own good – the people here don't even seem to realize that Hightown is still a shithole compared to most major cities!_

Finally, she reached the estates that overlooked the chantry. Cocking her head to the side, Isabela slunk down a narrow alley to the backs of the buildings. Smiling with satisfaction, Isabela noticed that the estate's exterior was every bit as run down as the interior that Fenris refused to fix up at all; climbing the wall with the aid of overgrown vines and numerous handholds provided by absent stone proved to be no problem for the lithe rogue. She pulled herself gracefully over the top railing, her feet making no sound as she landed on the small balcony of the top floor.

Creeping forward, she peered through the open window – nothing.

She silently let herself into the small room, noticing that it seemed to be some sort of storage space. There were boxes everywhere – undoubtedly from the previous owner – and a thick layer of dust covered everything in sight. She strode through the room and opened the door a crack, peering through to make sure that she wasn't discovered. Luck was with her, and all seemed silent

She flitted through the upper level of the mansion, finding little more than dusty books, broken furniture, and empty wine bottles. Curious as to where Fenris could be, she ghosted down the flight of stairs before flattening herself against a wall to blend back into the shadows. She heard it, then – a whistling sound, punctuated by sharp, exhaled breaths. Chancing a glance over the railing that over looked the ground-level foyer, she saw her target: Fenris was practicing his swordsmanship, and Isabela's breath caught in her throat as her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry lips.

The massive, two-handed sword that he wielded as easily as she did her small daggers was whirling around in a pattern too complex and fast to follow, the blade only a flash of silver. His eyes were closed in concentration, and – _Maker – _he was practicing with no shirt on! Isabela swallowed hard as she admired the rippling muscles coated in a sheen of sweat that served only to emphasize those entrancing markings of his.

Her heart beating rapidly, Isabela leaned back to the wall to calm herself. A flash of golden light coming from the room she stood next to caught her eye, and she felt herself drawn inside. A desk stood underneath a window, and the small golden cup that sat upon it reflected the sunlight brilliantly even through the filthy glass. She picked up the goblet, turning it in her hands; it was heavy, furthering her conviction that it was solid gold. There were sunburst patterns around the rim – the symbol of the Tevinter Imperium. She was about to pocket the item, sure that Fenris would never miss something like that, when it was knocked from her hands, falling with a loud _clunk_ to the stone floor.

She whirled around to find herself face-to-face with an extraordinarily irate Fenris. His eyes were narrowed and burned with jade fire, and his teeth were bared in a silent but feral snarl. For the first time since she had met him, Isabela felt a thrill of fear.

"What are you doing in my home?" Every slow syllable he uttered was laced with venom.

Isabela tried for humor. "Oh, you know – I was just out and about and thought I'd see if you really do dance all day long in here like you were telling Varric."

The back of her head cracked painfully against the wall as Fenris' hand caught her by the throat, pushing her backward with surprising speed.

_Wrong approach, clearly._

"So, whore, you thought that you'd break into my home and loot around like the dirty thief you are?" Fenris spat the words at her, loathing written plainly on his face. "I've killed people for less."

"Oooh, scary." Her voice sounded a lot less contemptuous than she was hoping it would. Probably because of the oxygen deprivation, she thought. "You going to do the sexy, glowy thing now, and tear my heart out with your bare hand?"

"I'm considering it." The markings glowed to life, starting from below his belt-line and spiraling upward to illuminate his enraged face.

Isabela tried to swallow past the hand that was cutting off her air supply, but met with little success.

"I'm sure Hawke wouldn't appreciate that very much," Isabela said, gasping. "You have to admit, I'm the best two-handed fighter we've got."

Fenris growled and leaned in closer. "Oh, I'm sure that he would be terribly upset, seeing as you've managed to ensnare him as easily as you do every other breathing person in this despicable town with your coy smiles and ridiculous clothing."

Isabela laughed breathily. "Oh, so you _have_ noticed, sweet—"

Her speech was cut off by fingers digging deeper in, causing her to cough. "_Venhedis_, woman! Do you never cease your relentless talking?"

"What's the fun in that?"

He growled his frustration to the ceiling, relinquishing his hold on her throat. Isabela leaned over, coughing.

"Well, as enjoyable as this has been, maybe I'll take my leave." Isabela said, preparing herself to dart out of the house before she really _did_ push him too far, but was cut off once more by a shout of fury.

"_Fasta vass!_"

She looked up in time to see his lips come crashing down onto hers with force. The kiss was hard, bruising, and exactly what she had always imagined it to be. Isabela tasted delight, and felt the thrill of victory rush through her.


End file.
